Morning Light
by OokamiHybrid
Summary: It's the very first time they've done this...thing of theirs at the Stilinski household. The Stilinski house becomes a place of many firsts.


_Morning Light_

It's the very first time they've ever done this...thing, of theirs, at the Stilinski household. Usually they spend late nights at Casa de Finstock, with Stilinski – _John_ – slinking out in the morning light to return home to his boy, make sure Stiles is awake, share a rushed but healthy breakfast. John's always up before he is which only bothers him in principle, because he's Coach; he's supposed to be the early riser, the one rushing around.

John rises before he does, brushes a feather light kiss across his temple, slow enough that Bobby rouses to mumble good morning before settling back into sleep. After, there's a fond murmur of agreement, a hand that presses softly to his shoulder, and then John is gone. When he finally does drag his ass out of bed, his coffee pot is done steeping. There's always a cup of the java gone, and his own favorite mug waiting patiently for him to fill it up.

That's how it's been since this _thing_ began two months ago – he can't quite call it fuck buddies, because they're not exactly _friends_, but calling it a relationship makes his heart clench in an entirely not-manly way, so he refuses to think of it like that. Instead, he just calls it a _thing_, and John's eyes crinkle at the corner with his smile.

It doesn't really bother him that nobody knows. He knows though, that it sort of bugs John, lying to his son when he slips out at night, saying he's going to work. The boy takes it with a grain of salt though, and Bobby's spent a few nights listening to John rant about how he _knows_ there's something on, but he just can't piece it together. He's growing apart from Stiles, he confides in Bobby, and he really doesn't know what to do about it.

Bobby can't help but keep a closer eye on _Bilinski_ during practice. He realizes quickly that it all has something to do with McCall, Lahey, Jackson, and that weird, quiet kid, Boyd. He keeps his concerns to himself though, knowing it's not his place. Plus, John loves that McCall kid – he really wonders if there maybe is something going on between McCall's mother and the Sheriff, pushing those thoughts aside as they make his stomach twist – and he's _certain_ it's _Stiles _whose doing the trouble causing, as he always has.

Still; he keeps an eye out, just in case. Surprisingly, Stiles does _better_ at Lacrosse with Coach Finstock watching him like a slide on a microscope.

So this is the first time they've done this _thing_ at the Stilinski house – Stiles is out at McCall's, gone for the weekend, and John actually doesn't have to work. They'd spent the night arguing over sports and eating pizza, something John rarely indulges in anymore, with Stiles always hounding him – and it's the very first time Bobby's been awake before the other man.

It's not even nine am yet, but habit has him dragging himself from sleep, used to his Saturday morning run. He's curled on his side, back facing the other man. There's an arm pressed against his spine, and he takes a second to enjoy the warmth of it before slowly rolling over.

John's sleeping on his back, one arm pressed flat to the mattress, flat to Bobby, and the other one folded over his stomach, fingers curled. He's always a soft looking man – unless he's actually _angry_, which has only happened around Bobby twice – but in sleep he seems downright _pliant_. His face is smoothed from the worry that's always etched there, and his eyelids flutter as he dreams.

Bobby sits up, dragging the sheet with him. He smirks to himself when he realizes the Sheriff hadn't bothered pulling pants back on last night; they hadn't done much more than grind – to be honest, in the two months they've been doing this _thing_, they haven't fucked once, neither one quite sure how to go about it, and both of them refusing to look into it – and there was cum flaking on John's hip.

He scrapes two fingers over it, digging them into the groove of John's hip, watching thighs tense then relax. John must have been really tired, he thinks, glancing at the man's face. He hasn't stirred. Bobby ponders for but a second before grinning to himself and setting to work.

He drops his head to sink his teeth into the flat plane of the Sheriff's stomach, dragging lightly downwards. The cock near his chin gives a faint, interested twitch as John exhales. The arm that was lying prone on the bed stretches up, hand curling into the pillow beside his head. The one on his abdomen droops down, brushing against Bobby's face, fingers heading to his dick before Bobby pushes them away, forcing that hand to the mattress.

He holds it there for only a moment, until the tight muscles of John's arms relax and he melts once more to the bed.

He's distracted momentarily by the thick, coarse hair under John's arm. He can feel his face burn, as his hand darts up, nails scraping through it. He trails them down the others mans side, and nearly gets smacked in the face by a dick for his efforts. _Huh, who woulda thought?_ He does it again, amused and understanding the reaction more than he should. But then, he's a Coach, and a gym teacher, and yeah, he studies human anatomy. _Hidden erogenous zones_ he remembers from a late night Dr. Phil show, one he'll never tell _anyone_ he watched.

He shifts his gaze further up to find light green eyes watching him, cloaked with sleep and arousal. The hand on the mattress comes up to cup his chin, thumb stroking his lips. His face flushes further and he ducks his head to trail his tongue over the tip of John's cock, quietly revelling in the low groan it drags from his prone partner. The hand switches to stroking his hair as he begins licking up a rib cage, stopping to _bite_ a nipple before pushing himself to sit up again.

"Morning." He offers, drinking in the sight below him.

The sun has really just begun to filter in through half drawn curtains, casting a lazy, golden shadow across the room. John's practically _glowing_ with the light, chest and neck darkening with the thrum of arousal. It's a pretty picture, a really fucking pretty picture, and since John isn't making any effort to take control, Bobby decides to enjoy this.

John simply hums at him as Bobby straddles one of his calves, hunching over to swipe a stripe of heat along the underside of his cock. Both hands are at the Sheriff's head now, curling into his pillow as he tilts his chin back, eyes closing again. He hums again.

They've always stuck to _making out_ and _frotting_ and this is entirely new. Bobby might be a bit of a social outcast, but even he's had his cock sucked before. He knows how it goes – tongues, lips, _teeth and you die_. He lets his mouth slide around the head, blinking in surprise when he feels a pulse of precum leak onto his tongue.

It shouldn't make him this hot, but it does. It _so fucking does_. He can't help but grind himself into the leg he's straddling, laughing around the dick in his mouth when John helpfully bends his knee, pressing back into him, _helping him_.

He feels like a dog, drooling over a dick while humping someone's leg, but the taste isn't that bad and John's sighing at him, all _sweetheart_ and _so good_ and _come on, don't stop_.

He swallows as much as he can when John comes undone, losing himself when a foot curls and toes bump at his balls, nudging them up. He _does_ laugh then, nearly choking himself in the process as he rears back to look at the messy white rubbed into the Sheriff's leg.

He's dragged down for a kiss, the older man rolling so he's on top; straddling Bobby's hips, tongue lapping into his mouth, mapping him out. _Sweet little cupcake_ is crooned against his mouth, and he fights back a whimper at that, sinking his teeth lightly into the Sheriff's tongue to quiet himself.

The exchange kisses until they're half asleep again. "I'm going to go put on the coffee pot." John murmurs, nosing along Bobby's chin as he pulls away. They both know neither of them will ever _truly_ be able to sleep when the suns still steadily rising. "Meet me downstairs?" Its half question, half absent comment as John pulls himself from the bed and scrubs dried cum off himself with a dirty towel. The man pulls on his jeans, not bothering to zip them up.

John pauses in the doorway, watching Bobby sprawled orgasm-quiet across his bed before grinning and heading down the stairs.

I

Stiles aches all over when he finally wakes up, the memory of last night slamming over him like a tidal wave. The burning in his back is soothed by the broad sweep of a tongue, and he grimaces when he glances over his shoulder to meet Alpha-red eyes.

Derek fucking _Hale_ is licking his goddamn _back_. What is his life? He tries to wiggle away, only to have a clawed hand grip at his hip. He realizes two things at once.

One, he's very much naked below an entirely wolfed out Alpha and two, he has the worst boner of _life_.

"Is this a wolf thing?" He babbles, mindless, as he keeps trying to drag himself across the floor, "Like, my neighbour's dog, this one time, when I skinned my knee, he like, he licked that. So is it a canine thing? I mean..." A growl, pressed too close to his spine for his liking, cuts him off. He shudders as Derek's tongue finds one of the deeper gashes on his back, carefully lapping around the edge of it. "Not cool." He whines, pressing his face to the grimy floor, turning his head to the side.

He chokes on air when he sees Isaac, erection shrinking. The Beta is just as wolfed out as the Alpha, hunkered down near the door of Derek's room. His posture is scared, and his eyes are full of anxiety. The usually saucy wolf whines in his throat, leaning forward to inch across the floor.

Another growl, this one accompanied by the scrape of teeth along his shoulder blade, has Isaac slinking back into the corner, knees drawn up and head ducked hastily.

"Derek," Stiles croaks, trying desperately to keep his voice even. "You're scaring me here. Talk to me buddy, what's going on?"

He has a sharp streak of memory flash before his eyes when Derek keens, low in his throat, mouth hovering over another cut on his back.

_Boyd, eyes gold, lunging at him. The normally sedate wolf looks savage, prepared to kill, and relief rushes over Stiles, letting him fall limp beneath the Hunter above him. They consider him Pack because __**Scott**__ does, and if there's one thing you don't do – it's go after a wolves Pack. Boyd is the first to arrive and wild with outrage, he grabs at Stiles' hoodie, trying to drag him away from the man in black. _

_His claws break skin, and tear across his flesh, making him yelp in a way he'd refused to do for the Hunter. Boyd roars then, wild with fear, and anger, and his eyes are burning with apology as he tries to gentle himself, ripping Stiles away from the Hunter. _

_Only, the man has let go now and he's backing up, backing away, raising a gun, and Stiles knows, he just fucking __**knows**__ that Boyd is weak with the urge to protect him, that he won't be able to dodge a bullet in time. _

He isn't aware he's crying until the heat of Derek settles over his back. The wolves all run on a higher temperature than his fragile human self, and the warmth seeping into him soothes some of the ache away. He settles under the Alpha, submissive, trembling as clawed hands gentle themselves over his face, his neck, wordless growls crooning into his ears.

It seems that his crying has spurred Isaac into motion. The Beta ignores the warning noises from his Alpha, and crawls from his corner, eyes focused solely on Stiles. He finds it sort of calming, in a weird way, to stare at deep gold and realize these people will do _anything_ for him.

His breath catches and hitches in his throat as a tongue swipes a tear away. Isaac's nose, wolfy as it is, nuzzles along his face, his ear, at his hair. He trembles again, pressing just that much closer to the Beta, and something seems to click in Derek; he stops growling, letting more of his weight fall onto the human beneath him and ohfuckingshit.

Stiles can _feel_ how hard the Alpha is getting, pressed tight against the curve of his ass. Derek doesn't seem intent on doing anything about it, though, simply snuffling along the line of Stiles' neck, bumping noses with Isaac twice on his journey.

_Derek's in the clearing suddenly, completely wolfed out, Peter at his left shoulder, Erica at his right. Stiles wonders where Scott is, the thought making his chest tighten painfully as Boyd drags him even closer, hunching over him. A living, breathing shield._

_The Hunter doesn't know what to do now, gun shaking, unsure if he should focus it on the Alpha, or the Beta near his feet. _

_Stiles doesn't know why he'd thought it would be easy now that the Alpha's arrived. An arrow cuts through the air. He's never really liked Peter, but the thought of watching him die again, when he's actually doing good now, causes him to shout out, wordless. The Alpha turned Beta looks more annoyed than anything as he catches the arrow, an inch from his eye, thumb snapping it clean in half._

_Erica roars and rears back, disappearing into the dark._

_A body, human, comes flying out of the woods. It lands with a dull thud, but the chest is still rising and falling. He's alive._

_Stiles wishes these hunters would finally start fucking believing him when he tells them that the Beacon Hills wolves aren't killers, aren't going to slaughter the people here. Even though sometimes...sometimes, he thinks they'd be safer if maybe Derek did kill the people that came after them. A glance at Peter's exasperated eye roll tells him the Beta agrees._

"I can't." He whispers, not even half hard which is just so_ wrong_, he's a sixteen year old boy; he has every reason in the world to be horny when two very attractive people are laving him with attention.

"I know."

Stiles jerks, startled, peering over his shoulder again. Derek's looking more human now.

"It's okay." The Alpha explains, twisting and pulling. Stiles ends up on his side, embarrassed at his nudity and the way he's pressed tight to the Alpha's torso. Isaac doesn't seem to notice, though, curling up in front of him. The Beta's yet to calm down, still half wolf, rubbing his face along Stiles' again.

Derek's new to being an Alpha, and he's never really had a _teacher_, so he watches with interest as Isaac's hands – clawless – press into Stiles' chest. Veins begin to stick out, black, and Stiles' moan is nearly obscene as he melts into the floor and Derek.

"W'assat?" He mumbles, reaching out to touch Isaac back, sliding his hand down the wolves arm. He notices the black veins, standing out, pulsing, and he tries to push Isaac's hands away. "Don't." His protest is quiet, uncertain.

"It's okay." Isaac's voice has the rough, scratchy quality Scott's does when he's half changed. "It's not hurting me." He adds, hoping to ease Stiles' worry, and pain. He can only take so much of it away, relieving the bone deep ache that comes from a beating. It's a feeling he knows well, seeing a look he'd only ever recognized in his own face, bright now in Stiles' eyes. "It's okay." He repeats.

"Do I look as bad as I feel? Am I still pretty?" He stills hurts but it's less now, and he's uncomfortable so Stiles leans on his sarcasm and quick tongue.

"You look like shit." Isaac's eyes are fading to blue. "Like, really bad."

Stiles has so many fucking questions running through his head, doubling when Derek presses dry lips to the back of his neck.

_The Hunter had decided it seemed, raising his gun to Derek. The Alpha looks bored with it, muscles preparing to lunge, when another arrow flies from the trees. It pierces the Hunter through his wrist, and his hand releases his weapon._

_Stiles rolls under Boyd to watch the eerily hot Chris Argent step from the woods. The man looks pissed, a little bit pained, as he sneers at Peter then nods at Derek. "Go."_

_It's all the Alpha needs. Boyd backs off of him without being told, and he's being scooped off the ground even as he realizes, dimly, that he's losing a looot of freaking blood. He passes out when they begin to move, trees flying by them, his body being jostled with every step._

"What happened?"

"We're not sure." Isaac tilts his head, lips pursing, hands still stroking along Stiles' chest and side.

"How long've I been out?"

"Only a few hours. It's morning now...you're not due home until tomorrow night." Isaac reassure, moving away finally to find a blanket, or something. Anything, really.

Stiles hesitates, making both wolves tense. He's never had a filter. _Ever_. "Where's Scott?" He asks finally, hating how small he sounds.

"Out with Boyd, Erica and Peter. He came as soon as Erica called him last night." Derek keeps his voice even, "He stayed with you the first two hours, then went with the rest of the Pack. They're making rounds to everyone's houses, and he's supposed to find Argent, try to figure out what the Hell is going on. Who these people are."

"Lydia and Alison are doing the same thing, trying to find Chris. We haven't seen him since he told us all to go, we were more worried about making sure you didn't bleed out." Isaac adds, knowing that Stiles is going to ask. "And when Jackson heard what happened to you he set up camp at Danny's. We don't know who these people are, but it's obvious with the way they were going at you, that they don't care who they hurt."

It's different from Gerard. Yeah, sure, he'd gotten his ass whooped by an old man, and it had hurt, had been embarrassing, but this...this was different. This guy, these Hunter's, they weren't going to stop. He wasn't bait. He was being considered a threat, an accomplice.

In what, he had _no fucking clue_, but that's what the man had said last night as he pulled a disgusting bag over Stiles' face, gun pressed to his temple. The wolves weren't doing anything bad, not anymore. There wasn't anything to be an accomplice _to_.

_Sadist_, he thinks, irritated.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice is hesitant and while it'd normally be funny, right now it just makes Stiles grimace.

"Yeah, what?"

They're not used to him being quiet.

"Do you..." Want to talk about it, he wants to ask, but doesn't, "Do you need anything?" He says instead, sighing.

They can _smell_ the panic, _smell_ the fear, shocked with how sudden it is. It makes them both feel sick. "I wan – I need to go home." Stiles is moving suddenly, limbs flailing. His elbow catches Derek in the nose, a move that would normally have him smacking the boy upside the head, but today just has him rolling his eyes. "I need to go home." His breathing is heavy, voice tight, the beginnings of a panic attack stirring.

"Okay." Isaac says, before Derek can do anything. The Alpha lifts himself enough to glare over Stiles' head. "Your Jeep's outside. I'll drive you home, then run back here, okay? Or I can stay." He relents, smiling at the human boy. "Okay?"

"Yeah...yeah, I just. Where's my bag?" He hadn't been going to Scott's house at all. The duo was meant to be at Derek's for the weekend, training, renovating, _bonding_. It was supposed to be fun. Who would have thought him wandering off to call Erica home for dinner would end in yet _another_ fucking kidnapping, and, and.

He gags, grabbing the bucket Derek shoves under his face as he rolls over to hurl.

It takes him half an hour to calm down, another fifteen minutes to get dressed. His teeth are chattering and he thinks he's going into shock as Derek watches him, pained expression on his face, as Isaac bundles him into the passenger side and slips behind the wheel of his Jeep.

"I'd like to tell you that you'll feel better tomorrow." Isaac sighs, blunt, "But you probably won't. Just, I'm here if you need to...talk, or something, okay? I know you and I aren't really friends, and that you'd rather talk to Scott, but I..._understand_."

Understands what it's like to be helpless, to think that maybe this is the final beat down you can take, that this time, you're actually going to die.

Stiles nods, brushing his fingers against Isaac's sleeve. "Yeah, thanks." He's croaking still. "I just...I want my dad." It makes him feel like shit, saying it and seeing Isaac's fingers clench over the wheel. "I know I'm going to have to talk through this with the Pack sometime soon. I know it's weird that I can't talk right now, but I just freaking can't. I feel like my head is going to explode. We only _just_ got rid of Gerard, fixed Jackson, like, _two months ago_, and we haven't had a break since. I'm sick and tired of being _weak_, Isaac, and I know it sucks, but you guys telling me everything will be okay, or it won't be okay, or I'm not going to get better, or that it is, _isn't helping. __**I just want my dad**_"

He's not usually so vocal about needing his father's reassurance, and it strikes Isaac suddenly.

Jackson is guarding Danny, Lydia and Alison are safe at the Argent's gun loaded house (to be fair, Scott's probably going to end up hovering around there, too), and the rest of the wolves are traveling in pairs for the time being. Stiles has his own personal bodyguards if he wants them, but his _dad_ who everyone who ever comes to Beacon Hills _ever_, knows is his dad, is sitting at home by himself. Human, vulnerable.

The panic finally makes sense.

Isaac pulls up outside the Stilinski house, breathing through his mouth to fight back the bile Stiles' stench of desperation makes rise in throat.

"I'm sorry. We'll figure this out, Stiles."

The human stumbles out of the passengers side, backpack hugged to his chest. "Tell Derek I want to talk to him when I...settle down." He's distracted, it's easy to see. Isaac wonders what he's thinking about.

Really, all Stiles is thinking about is getting a hug and letting his father fawn over him in a way that is completely platonic and not at all creepy like what the AlphaBeta duo were doing at the Hale house.

"I don't need you to stay, Isaac. Thanks, though." He waves his cell phone, walking backwards towards his house. "I'll call if I need you?"

"We won't be far." Isaac promises, lips pulling to the side. "If we don't answer our phones, run outside and shout. Someone will hear you."

Stiles waves a final time, narrowly avoids falling on his ass as he walks backwards up the stairs. The door is unlocked which irks him, as he's always getting yelled at for forgetting, but he shrugs it off and slinks inside, ears perking as he listens for signs of his father being awake.

I

His dad is leaning on the counter, eyes focused on the table. He's also half naked, which is something he's used to. Which sounds...weird. But it isn't! They're guys, they sometimes run around with only their boxers or a towel on, scrambling to turn on coffee pots and make sure eggs don't burn.

So seeing his dad wearing a pair of rumpled, unbuttoned jeans while waiting for coffee is totally fine by his standards.

Seeing his freaking _Coach_ in a pair of underwear at his kitchen table makes him question just how hard he got hit last night, even as he screams. Not even a manly scream, a little girl scream as he grabs at the doorframe, limbs flailing all over the place, smacking himself in the head "_Ohmygod what are you doing?!"_ He wails before his flailing legs cause him to crash into the floor.

His dad looks half horrified, half amused, as he buttons his jeans and steps forward. He finally gets a good look at Stiles, though, when the boy stops his fish-on-land impersonation, and the amusement fades to pure horror and rage. "What the _Hell_ happened to you Stiles?"

He's hardly ever heard his dad roar like that, and he cringes even as he raises his arms "Hug?"

He's hugged too tight, and he squeaks as the gashes in his back are irritated. He's deposited at the table as Coach comes barreling back into the room, having left to find pants and a shirt. _His dads shirt, oh God why?_

He expects Coach to leave but the man instead rummages in their cupboards until he finds mugs, filling three with coffee. No one bothers to tell him that Stiles isn't usually allowed to drink coffee. The man sits across from him, hesitant, not knowing what to do.

John takes one of the empty seats, reaching for Stiles' hand.

"Dad, I think you have some explaining to do." He blurts, jerking his arm away from his father.

John's eyes narrow. "Stiles," His chest heaves as he sighs. "I think there are more important things right now. _Who was it?_ I'm pressing charges, I swear to –"

"Dad." He doesn't bother saying he's okay. He's not. Not this time. "Dad." He has no clue what to say. Instead, he scrubs a hand over his face and ignores his dads glare, snagging the cup of coffee Coach had placed in front of him, chugging down half of it before it's snatched away. "_Dad_. I don't. I have no freaking clue. I don't know. It was dark, okay? Scott and I were...we were sneaking out to meet up with some. Friends." Frowned upon, but expected of them, considering the events of the last year. "We got split up, and I don't know. It was dark." He says again, letting his dad hold his hand this time.

"Do I need to take you to a hospital?" The question is serious, worried.

"I don't...I don't think so. I mean, I..." He knows Derek's going to be pissed. "I got a few cuts, maybe..." He shrugs, helpless. He doesn't trust Derek's spit bath as being all that great at cleaning him. He should probably go to Deaton, but his dad is _right here_. He's giving puppy eyes at his father, stripping his sweater and t-shirt off, hissing when the cuts he's pulled open again try clinging at his shirt.

It is _so freaking weird_ that he's sitting at the table with Dad and Coach, all three of them topless. He gags at the sudden mental images he _sooo_ did not need, startling when Coach stands and asks for the first aid kit.

He's a little bit afraid as the usually loud, angry man makes him straddle the chair so he can get at his back. His dad watches like a hawk, eyes darting between Stiles' furrowed brow and Coach's look of concentration.

"I had an older brother," Coach is talking, rambling aimlessly, much like Stiles does "He used to do stupid things all the time, you know, got himself hurt. Got cuts like this when we were hiking one day, he slipped and his shirt came up, scraped his back across a ledge when he went sliding down. You'll be fine, Stilinski, just need to keep this clean."

It goes on like that for what seems forever, Coach cleaning his back with quick, efficient strokes as he fills the silence with a stream of unconscious noise. Stiles hates himself for finding it comforting but it's familiar, that grating, odd voice a balm to his ears because it's _normal_. It's something he's used to.

He folds his arms over the back of the chair, resting his head there, half asleep. He only stirs when Coach makes a comment about how he should be heading home.

Panic seizes his lungs again, making it hard to breathe. This? This is what his dad is used to, the panic attacks, and he starts to soothe it away immediately, firm hands rubbing his shoulders, steady voice telling him to _breathe, son, I got you_. This is totally what makes his dad the _best_ cop ever.

No one asks what caused it, and he's grateful. Even now in his bruised, skittish state, he sees the danger of Coach being caught leaving _his_ house. He had thought it was a random thing, what happened last night – but Lydia holing up with Alison, Jackson guarding Danny, it tells him that it wasn't random. Derek's afraid someone is targeting _every_ member of his pack, that Stiles wasn't a once off.

John Stilinski is Pack because _Stiles_ is Pack. In turn? That makes Coach Pack now, too.

"Stay." He wheezes, wiping snot off on his arm. His dad grimaces, handing him a paper towel. "Don't leave on my account." He waves an arm, wildly, letting his dad catch it and place it back on the chair. "Can we. Watch a movie. Or something? Please?" He's begging, eyes pleading up at his dad.

"Alright Stiles. We'll watch a movie." He sends Coach an apologetic look, all three of them heading into the living room.

It shouldn't feel good to curl up at his dads left hip, knowing Coach is on his dads right after he pops in freaking _Independance Day_ of all things. It does though and Stiles falls asleep with a hand stroking his hair, the movie and a quiet conversation somewhere above his head calming him into dream land.

He wakes up a few hours later, thanks to his dad shouting. " – Hell Scott? He's been your best friend for _years_ and ever since you started seeing that Argent girl, since you've gotten better at Lacrosse, he's been shoved to the back burner. What happened last night, son?" His voice was gentling towards the end.

"I don't...I don't know, Mr Stilinski."

"You know I care about you Scott. You're like Stiles' brother, a second son. But recently he always has your back and you hardly ever have his." His dad sounds tired. Stiles glances up at Coach, whose still sitting beside him, face blank. "I just want to know what happened. Did you split up to go see the Argent girl? I'm not going to be mad, I just want to know."

"No, I...We just got separated. Am I allowed to see him?" Scott sounds broken and Stiles makes a noise in his throat, preparing to roll off of the couch. He can't stand to hear Scott like that, they're bros.

His dad pauses for a beat. "I couldn't keep you two from seeing each other even if I wanted to. Which I don't, Scott." He reassures. He can practically see his dad reaching out to pat Scott's shoulder, nodding at him.

He gives Coach a weird smile as the man looks down at him, head tilted curiously. "Hey dude." He yawns, voice murky with sleep, as Scott scrambles into the room. "Wha's goin' on?"

Scott's entire body seems to unwind, and he's oblivious enough that he only blinks curiously at Coach before approaching Stiles. "You look like crap, dude." Stiles glares, "Want to go up to your room?" It's less a question, more an order.

Stiles pulls himself from the couch, wincing in pain. Scott's hands hover at his elbows, prepared to catch him if he falls.

It's the first time since Scott turned wolf that he's been here for the aftermath. It sort of makes Stiles want to cry.

I

"I didn't want to say anything before, but there's something up with McCall." Bobby says, eyes burning as he watches John pace the living room. "It's not my place to get involved in your business, but –"

"I know." John sighs. "I thought it was Stiles at first. He's the one that used to cause trouble, you know? He was the one dragging them through the woods at night, looking for dead bodies." He ignores the confused, _what_ that his lover mutters, "But there's something else going on now. It's been different for a long time, but it's only...I mean, it got worse after the night at the police station." The night that still had John sometimes crying out for Scott and Stiles in his sleep, waking up in a cold, panicked sweat. "It's just been plain wrong since the last Lacrosse game." Coach cringes at that. "I didn't really believe it was the other team when he came home roughed up, but he _wanted_ me to, so I just went with it. Do you think its drugs?" He asks, serious as he turns to Bobby.

"It could be. But I doubt McCall is actually that stupid. His best friend's dad is the Sheriff and his mom works in the hospital. If it were steroids, he'd be getting bigger, not just better. Better comes with practice. Lahey and Jackson have always been good, and that Boyd kid just never bothered trying out. They've all had a lot of shit going on this past year, John." Lahey's dad dying, Jackon being kidnapped, Alison's mother's suicide, Lydia being brutalized. His heart aches for these kids, it does.

"They've all been really close." John agrees. "It's like whenever something bad happens to one of them, the others drag them into this little...clique of broken _kids_."

Bobby nods, slowly, "Humans are pack animals." He offers, "We like to be in groups, or at least pairs. It makes us stronger." He knows he's felt better since they started this _thing_. "That's probably all that is. Looking for someone you can relate to. They're teenagers, it's what they do."

"You're right." John sits beside him on the couch, heavily. "...Jackson _died_ that night, Bobby. Melissa was the one to tell us that."

"She also left with him in the ambulance." Bobby deadpans. "They do things in those, you know. Save lives." His words have the edge of a sarcastic bite to them.

"They had him in a body bag." John's eyes are narrow, calculating. "He was declared dead on arrival, and now he's fine."

"Drop it, John."

"I can't."

Bobby grabs his wrist as he goes to stand. "Do you _really_ want to do this?" He asks. "You really want to go digging this up?"

"You saw the marks on him. He might not be much to you, but he's my son. He's the...he's all I have left, Bobby. I'm not going to like what I find, but you know what I'll like even less? Getting a phone call asking me to go down to the morgue to identify my son's body. Something is going on here, and I damn well deserve to know." He's choking up, biting back tears, unwilling to feel ashamed for the sudden display of emotion.

Bobby's lips press into a thin line before he stands as well. "Alright. I'll ride with you to McCall's." He offers.

It's the first time they've done this at the Stilinski house, the first time he's seen John so upset, and it's the first night they aren't going to bother hiding whatever the Hell it is they're doing. He kind of likes it.

He also can't quite shake the feeling that something big is about to happen. It makes his stomach twist into knots, causes adrenaline to pump through his veins. The rush is short lived, though, when they arrive at the McCall house to find Melissa's car to be gone. Since Scott rode his bike over, they know the woman is out.

John sits on the front porch, preparing to settle in for the night. Bobby glances around the darkening streets, grunts, and sits down beside him.

I

"Get the _Hell_ out of my car." Melissa snarls, hands startlingly steady on the wheel, even as her foot presses heavily on the gas.

"And how do you expect me to do that if you're driving so quickly?" The man croons, fake-concerned as he lounges in the back seat. "Melissa darling, I really am sorry about what happened before, all that sour business. But I'm a changed man now. Reborn." His grin has just a little bit too much fang in it.

"If you jump out of a moving vehicle, you'll live. I'm not an idiot. Get the fuck out of my car." She glares at him via the rear view mirror, reeking of nerves.

"Melissa." He lowers his voice, trying to soothe the woman as best he can. His hands come up to hover at the headrest of her seat. "I promise you, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not here to hurt Scott. I'm here to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" She swallows, easing up on the gas and twisting off the main road. _All of this for a bag of milk_, she thinks, taking a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. "What's out there?"

"Not what, who. Hunters. Not the Argents though, another group. Scott didn't tell you what happened to Stiles?" He's genuinely surprised at that, seeing as Melissa is a nurse. If he had been permitted to remain in the house once Stiles was brought there, he would have urged them to bring him to Mrs McCall. Her expertise would have worked better than Derek's _tongue_. He wasn't there, no, but he knows his nephew licked the boy. "He's alright now." He assures her as quickly as he can, picking up on the rising heartbeat. "He'll be okay. But they _did_ plan to kill him. Us wolves have been sent out to make sure they don't move in on any of the other Pack humans."

"Why isn't Scott with me?"

"He's running errands, between Derek and Stiles. He's the only one the Sheriff will let into the house, and Stiles is right in the middle of this. He has to be kept up to date. Plus, Scott's so worried about him right now it was like pulling teeth trying to get him to run a patrol earlier."

"Why..."

"Did they send me? Isaac wanted to come be with you, but Derek asked him to go stay with Alison, since we can't seem to find her father yet. Boyd and Erica refuse to go near her house; they took off to patrol the woods before Derek could send them to you. Jackson is guarding a friend of his...the Martin girl." He smiles brilliantly at the glare Melissa tosses his way, "She's at the Argent's with Isaac."

"Why didn't Derek come, then?"

"Really? You prefer his company over mine?" He climbs gracefully into the passenger seat, chuckling when she 'subtly' elbows him in the face. "Derek is busy playing Alpha. I really only have your best interests in mind, Melissa. Scott's too."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." She makes to pull over on the side of the road, only flinching a little when Peter's hand grabs at the wheel.

"Keep going. It's not safe to stop; we're being tailed."

She blinks at him even as she obeys, glancing over her shoulder. Sure enough, a black SUV is crawling along behind them. "You've got to be kidding me."

"This is why I'm here, Melissa." Peter explains. "I'm strong enough to protect you should they choose to strike an attack, and I've already text Derek. He's following as well." She peers out the window, but is unable to see the Alpha in the setting sun. She shivers.

"Who's watching John?" She asks suddenly, pressing a bit hard on the gas yet again.

"Who?"

She sighs, eyes rolling skyward. "The Sheriff?"

"I imagine Scott's keeping an eye on him and Stiles."

Melissa slams her hands against the steering wheel, almost sending them into a tree. "Peter." She snaps, twisting to stare at him as she gets the car under control. She's turning into a reckless driver, but it's the least of her worries. "Have you met my son? I know you have. You're the one that _did this to him_. Scott can hardly keep an eye on his own _body_, let alone _two_ Stilinski men at the _same time_. I love my son, but he has the attention span of a puppy." She jabs a finger in his face when he begins to smile.

Peter bites his lips and holds his hands up in surrender, forcing himself to be silent. Even his hardened werewolf stomach lurches though, when Melissa pulls a u-turn, flipping off the driver in the SUV as she _floors it_, taking back off the way they had come. "Melissa, darling. Where are we going?" He looks out the back window, amused to see the SUV struggling to turn and follow.

"Call me darling one more time, and I swear to God I will drag you by your ear to Chris Argent and let him have his wicked, wicked way with your werewolf ass." She threatens, finally focused on the road. "I'm going to drive by John's house and check on my boy, if that's alright with you?" The look she quickly tosses his way informs him that she really doesn't care about his opinion. She's doing what she wants to do. He can sit there and take it like a man, or he can wolf up and take control of the situation.

Peter finds the control on his seat and reclines the back a bit, making himself comfortable. "As you wish, dearest."

She pauses for a beat. "I thought you were dead? Scott said you were dead."

"I was dead, but I'm back now. Lydia helped me with that. I came back just before the attack at the police station." He bites down on the growl that threatens to rip from his chest. Derek had informed him, once they'd been on slightly better terms that that was the night Melissa had found out about the supernatural. Just the thought that she had been there...he hadn't even smelled her, senses too clogged from gun powder and wolfsbane to realize this beautiful creature beside him had almost become Kanima chow. The thought still makes his inner wolf howl in outrage.

"Why didn't you help them?" Them, being Derek and Scott.

"I was weak still, having been reborn." He is nothing but honest with this woman now that he has nothing to hide. "I was watching from the sidelines. Derek and I still weren't on speaking terms, he was under the impression that I wanted to slit his throat to become Alpha again, which, as I've said before, was definitely not my greatest moment."

"Yeah, I'll say." Her eyebrows were raised as she calmed herself with more meditative breaths. Truly a glorious creature. "I still have nightmares about that bus driver, and I'm not above blaming you for it. For the rest of _forever_. Not to mention the fact that you tried to eat my son. Why didn't Scott tell me you were alive again? He told me you were dead after he explained the whole being a werewolf thing."

"To protect you, I assume. He didn't know at the time of the station attack that I was alive." Peter hates that he's still seen as a threat to the lovely Melissa McCall. He'd never wanted to _hurt_ her. He'd simply wanted to turn her. Partially to get Scott to join his pack, partially because she would have been a fantastic mate.

"If these are Hunters, why are they coming after humans? Scott said the Argents only went after wolves, and even then, they only killed the ones who were actively turning or killing people. What do they gain from murdering a sixteen year old boy?" She remembers, clearly, Scott's shame at the sight of Stiles' bruised face. She remembers too, the night John had shown up at her doorstep, sober, but looking for a friend. She had bundled him up into her house, throat tight with memory. It wasn't the first time John had come to her; he had done so often after his wife died. Before that, the McCall and Stilinski families had been two amazingly happy units, spending holidays and birthdays in each others company. _How things change_, she thinks, yearning for days long gone.

"You know that Derek's changed a handful of students, yes?" Peter waits for her nod. "People, and a startling amount of werewolves, think that Pack can only be wolf. Before my family was killed in the fire, they would have told anyone who asked otherwise. Humans can be Pack, too. There were perfectly human people in that house when it burnt to the ground. As wolves, we're stronger when we have a Pack. No one understands that it means the human part of it, too. Since Scott's finally accepted Derek as Alpha, everyone who _he_ considered Pack has become Derek's Pack, making him stronger in the process. The drive to protect, to create a family, is so much more than instinct for us. It's who we _are_."

"Stiles is Pack." Melissa says, numbly, finally back on the main road.

"Scott was a Beta-Alpha. A Beta, who thought he was more. His Pack consisted of Lydia, Jackson, Stiles, Danny, and Alison." Peter loves teaching; he probably should have been a teacher, he thinks. "So now that he's joined us, they're our Pack too. And anyone who actually matters to them. We can't accept Chris because of what he is, and we'd never tell Scott, but we don't consider Alison Pack. The others...they don't care much for their families, aside from Stiles. The Sheriff falls under our protection, and we will fight for him, if it comes to that."

She finds the conversation to be soothing, which it shouldn't be. "I heard something last night – howling. It's nowhere near the full moon, and I thought something was going on but...Scott's warned me before, if I hear anything, not to get involved. That he'll let me know. When he sent me a text saying not to worry, I assumed everything was okay. It's not okay, is it?"

"No. Stiles is Pack, as you've said, and when we realized he was hurt last night we all lost control of our wolves. What you heard was us locating each other. Stiles had gone out to collect Erica, she was supposed to be near the stream doing a bit of her laundry." At the confused look he received, Peter shrugged. "We don't have our plumbing going yet, we're working on it. Erica and Stiles like to goof around, so when it started taking a while Derek figured it was just them being _them_. Erica showed up an hour later without Stiles, and we began to search for him. The other girls had been at Argent's house regardless, so we sent Scott there to see if Lydia had heard from him. Boyd, our newest wolf, found Stiles first. What you heard, Melissa, was a wolf signalling to his Pack that someone was hurt. He was saying, _come, quickly_. The noises after that were the rest of us revealing our locations, pinpointing how long it would take us to get there."

"Peter, I think it's time someone told John what was going on." She swallows, thickly. "I know we want to keep this on the down low, but if Stiles went home bloodied like you said, I can guarantee you that John's on the warpath now. He's going to start asking questions regardless of how many times his son says he's okay. He was already near the breaking point after the Gerard incident, he can't take anymore. We have to tell him what's going on."

"I agree with you one hundred percent, my dear." He lets his eyes go blue, fangs growing to half length. "Things have happened since Gerard's death, and Stiles has been hurt before. I fear the boy himself is starting to lose control. Having his father in the know might be enough to settle him down a bit."

"Settle him down?"

Peter looks thoughtful, mulling something over in his head. "Scott's told us that Stiles has confided in him, how he hates being weak. I believe Stiles is going to ask Derek for the bite. I've always known he's thought about it, what it would be like to be one of us. Then Gerard and Jackson happened, Matt happened. There was the...falling out...with the other Alpha's, just a while back. Now this. The boy has the spirit of the wolf, the need to protect, to have family."

"All the more reason for John to know. Stiles and Scott have always told white lies, but this is all so much more dangerous now. If we can make John aware of what's going on...plus, no one can say it wouldn't be an asset to have him accept the Pack, right? He's the Sheriff, and even though you're not killing anyone anymore, you're still causing damage that he has to look into." She thinks of herself then, and how Scott's boss has been teaching her to treat the injuries of werewolves. She feels like they're building some sort of cult. _You're building Pack_ a voice in the back of her head whispers at her, honey-sweet.

Peter's hand settles over the back of hers, which is white knuckled from the grip she has on her steering wheel. "You're shaking." He observes no judgement or remorse in his tone. "It will be alright Melissa. I promise. We'll set things straight with the Sheriff, and get rid of the Hunters." Derek might not want to get his hands dirty, but Peter is willing to turn full wolf – something he rarely does – and eat every last scrap of them, if it means they're gone for good. He's tired of running, of being a target. He wants to settle down, get to know this new Pack of his.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you." She replies with a flat voice, tires squealing as she turns sharply onto the Stilinski's street. She slams the breaks, out of the car before it's even fully stopped. "His cars gone." She notes, starting across the Stilinski lawn.

The front door flings open and Stiles practically _flies_ out of it, almost braining himself on the mailbox when he trips. His nails scrabble for purchase on something, finding Peter's shirt. "_Whoa dude_, too close, back it up mister Big Bad Wolf what are you doing at my house, how do you know where I live? Hi Mrs McCall, _Scott!_" All come tumbling from his mouth.

"Did you take your medication?" Melissa asks, eyes bulging as Peter steadies the boy and backs away, hands raised in a show of peace.

"What are you _doing here?_ Did he hurt you mom?" Scott attacks, verbally, even as Stiles begins to blurt out "Took too much medication, had some coffee, dad's gone, _Peter did you eat my dad,_ I will kill you!"

"_Enough!_" Melissa cuffs both boys on the head, and they fall still instantly, watching her with big, worried eyes. "Enough. No, Peter didn't hurt me. Stiles, Peter did not eat your dad. He knows where you live because I drove him here, no one is getting eaten, Stiles do you have any idea where your father could have gone?"

"No." Stiles tosses a glare in Scott's direction. "Someone was supposed to be keeping an ear out, but ended up talking to a certain Argent on the phone for fifteen minutes."

Scott looks pained. "I told you I'm sorry, Stiles. Derek asked me to keep posted on what's going on there, we're still trying to find Chris. You know Alison and I broke up, I was just trying to do what I was told." His puppy eyes have always been potent, but now that they glow dog-yellow, they're downright _deadly_.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just. My dad, you know?" Stiles' shoulders slump and Melissa makes a sad noise, even as Scott hugs his best friend tightly. Peter stands off to the side, feeling out of place.

"Get in the car. We'll stop by our house to grab my cell phone in case he called me, and then we'll head out looking for him." Melissa jerks her chin towards her car. "We have to hurry, though, come on boys. Peter and I were being followed on the main road, it's only a matter of time before they catch up."

"Take your car, we'll take my Jeep." Stiles is already moving towards the crap vehicle. "We won't be able to fit everyone in your car when we find him."

"Didn't he take the cruiser?" Melissa calls over her shoulder as she rushes back towards her own vehicle, heart aching when Scott instantly joins Stiles. She wishes her son would stay close to her. Not that she can protect him against whatever happens, but she wishes she could – she wonders if this is how Stiles has felt all along, and feeling sympathy for the boy.

"No, he still hasn't gotten it back yet, he gets picked up before going to the station. If he's not at your house, he might. He might be at Coach Finstock's house." The boy cringes at them from over the hood of his Jeep before he slides into the driver's side door.

"Coach Finstock?" Melissa furrows her brow as her and Peter begin pulling away from the curb. "Why the hell would John be with Coach Finstock?" She doesn't really expect Peter to know, but something in the wolves eyes has her suspicious.

"We always keep a watch on Stiles, but we do the same for you and the Sheriff." It sounds like it physically hurts him to talk about it. "I'm the one who follows the Sheriff, since I'm the only one he doesn't know. Scott, Isaac, and Derek check in on you even though I'm the one with the most spare time." Also, the one who would _love_ to be in her company the most. "The Sheriff and Coach appear to be...having an affair of sorts." He nods his head, pleased at his choice of words. "It started just a little after the incident at the Lacrosse game."

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up a second. You're telling me, John, who I have known since I was in _high school_, thank you very much. John, the father of my son's best friend, widow to _my_ best friend, is what – having sex with Coach Finstock? The Coach of our sons _Lacrosse_ team. Their _economics teacher_?"

"I fail to see how this is confusing. The Sheriff goes to Finstock's house, they have 'sexual relations', then they go their separate ways. They also have dinner and watch TV, if that makes you feel any better. Personally, it makes my skin itch." He scratches at his chin, to prove his point.

"John's straight."

"Apparently not, my dear Melissa."

She supposes she can't really begrudge John any sliver of happiness he can get, so she shrug it off. Even if Finstock is one very, very strange little man. Who likes to quote Independence Day. And talk a lot. On second thought, he's probably going to fit the Stilinski Men's lifestyle like nobody's business. She's grinning as she pulls in behind the ratty Jeep, relieved to see John on her porch.

"Somebody want to tell me what the Hell is going on?" He asks, crossing his arms. The movement jostles Bobby, who'd been passed out, drooling on the Sheriff's shoulder.

Melissa says yes, even as Stiles blurts no, nothing.

They meet each other's eyes.

"I already told you Stiles, we don't have time to sit around waiting." She sounds much more at ease than she feels. "Peter and I discussed this already. It's going to better for everyone if your dad knows what's going on."

"Look, Mrs McCall, with all due respect –"

"Stiles." She interrupts, reaching out to place her hands on the boy's shoulders. "We need to do this. I'm going to do this. How much easier has it been on Scott, since I found out? Hm? You can't protect those who don't know there's danger."

"Somebody start explaining right now." John is grasping Melissa's elbow, still as gentle as gentle can be with his hands. Bobby hovers nervously behind him, body vibrating with energy. He clearly has no idea what to do.

"I'll explain it on the way. Uhm..." She looks to Peter.

"We'll go to the Hale house. The walls of the first floor are finished, and if the need arises, there's a labyrinth of tunnels below that we can use. Derek's not following us anymore." He adds, scenting the air. Scott does the same. "We need to go now, something isn't right. Sheriff, Coach, if you wouldn't mind getting into Melissa's car?"

"Maybe I should –" Finstock starts.

"Trust me." Peter smiles, all teeth and no humor, fangs glinting. John's hand twitches to where his gun usually is, heavy on his hip. "You want to get in the car. Stiles, take as many twists as you can. Try to throw them off your tail." He can already hear that damned SUV approaching. "They're almost here; no time to argue. Everybody, go."

The teenagers don't hesitate to scram, Stiles pausing only to hug his dad and tell him that he loves him. The Jeep burns rubber as it peels out of the McCall driveway, lights off to avoid detection. Not safe, but smart.

John relents only when Melissa whispers _please_. The four of them have barely gotten the doors closed when the SUV tears down the street, a window rolling down. Melissa doesn't think, simply does, throwing the car into motion.

"Melissa, do I need to call for backup?"

"Not unless you want all of Beacon Hills PD getting killed. Again." She hisses through grit teeth, meeting Peter's eyes with fierce determination.

_Yes_, his wolf growls, _she would be a perfect mate._

I

They get to the house at the same time Erica stumbles from the woods, trying to rip an arrow out of her shoulder. Scott sniffs a few times before relaxing. "It's not laced with wolfsbane, we just need to get it out and it'll heal." He struggles to pull it from the shewolves body, nose wrinkling in confusion. Eventually, he apologizes to her, using his claws to rip the skin further.

The arrowhead is hooked like a fishing lure, making a soft _beep, beep, beep_, when it's finally removed.

"Dude. It's not laced, it's a _tracking device_. Oh my God we have to get rid of it. We need to –" Scott squeezes, werewolf strength bending the metal until it's a lump of broken garbage in his palm. He hands it on over to Stiles, grinning. "Or we can just do that, that works too."

"I have no idea where Boyd is, and I can't howl for him. They'll hear us. Does anyone know where Derek is?" Erica questions, stomping up the front steps of the Hale house, already healed.

"No, but Peter told us to come here. We'll be safer behind the walls than we will be out in the open." Scott nudges Stiles forward, walking backwards himself to keep an eye out on the woods. "He's bringing my mom, Stiles' dad, and Coach."

"Why is he bringing Coach?"

"Please, please, please, don't ask. I don't want to think about it, it's _so weird, ohmygod._" Stiles begs. Erica decides against torturing him with it right now, seeing as they have more pressing matters to attend to.

"I think my mom's going to tell the Sheriff about everything that's been going on." Scott hedges. "I don't know if Derek's going to be happy about it, but Peter seems to think it's a good idea." None of them will ever admit it, but Peter Hale makes an excellent mentor. He also hasn't tried to kill anyone lately, or go after Scott's mom, _or_ harass Lydia, so he's earned himself some brownie points with the Beta's and humans.

"Shit's gettin' real." Stiles groans, dropping carefully onto an old couch that's missing all four legs. "My dad is going to kill me." He declares, tossing an arm over his eyes.

"He's not going to kill you Stiles. It's not like you could have just gone to him and been like _hey dad, werewolves_. He would have thought you were totally bonkers. Remember we were going to do it before the whole Matt thing? It's not our fault we thought he'd be safer without knowing. We never could have imagined Hunters could be _worse_ than the Argents." The fact that Scott of all people now holds resentment towards that family makes Stiles happier than he should be. "He's not going to kill you. It's going to be okay, dude."

"Derek has guns." Erica chirps, suddenly. "You and your dad know how to use guns. I'm...going to go get the guns." They're shotguns, of course, and that totally weird's Stiles out.

"Why does Derek have guns?"

"Derek doesn't have guns; Argent's left guns at Derek's house." The Alpha deadpans from a doorway behind them. All three teens jump, startled, and he heaves a mighty sigh. "I could have been a Hunter. Start using your senses or be prepared to die." He snaps at his wolves, crossing the room to try and tug the gun from Stiles' hand. "You're going to hurt yourself." He hisses, eyebrows doing that weird thing where they act like they're _alive_.

"Look, I need a way to protect myself, okay buddy? And no I'm not; I know how to hold a fucking gun."

"Dude." Scott says, face scrunching up. "Don't swear, man."

"What? Don't – what?" Stiles does another fish impression, mouth opening, closing, yet nothing coming out.

"It sounds weird when you swear." Erica offers, examining the second gun. "You heard us saying Peter's going to tell Stiles' dad?"

The Alpha nods, taking a seat on the couch. "There's no one near the house, but it doesn't seem right. They shot at me for a while when they found me following the SUV, but they didn't...it wasn't like they were trying to kill me. They weren't even really tracking me."

"They shot Erica with a tracer. Maybe they did the same to you?" Stiles blinks at the Alpha, checking to make sure the gun is loaded.

"No I already checked for that, I'm clean. Why would they trace Erica, but not me?" Derek still doesn't like the fact Stiles is holding a gun – it makes him feel a little inadequate. Like maybe Stiles doesn't think the Pack will be able to keep him safe. He knows they've failed him before but...

It bugs Stiles that Derek isn't really acknowledging the whole _the Sheriff finding out about wolves_ thing, but whatever. He's kind of excited to see Derek's reaction to Coach, though. That's bound to be hilarious. "Maybe they figured it'd be easier to get to the other wolves if they followed Erica? I mean, the Beta's are weaker right? So they're more likely to run back to the Alpha, or to another Packmate if they need to?" Stiles doesn't point out how that was _exactly_ what had happened. Erica had been hurt, and she had instantly returned to their 'Den', to Stiles and Scott, to be taken care of. It makes him a little warm inside, knowing he's getting their behaviours down pat.

"We destroyed it." Scott says quickly, "The tracer isn't working anymore."

"They had to have known she'd take it out, I doubt if they were legitimately thinking that would work." Stiles stamps down on his unease, shaking the thoughts of the Hunter he'd encountered from his head. There's bigger things happening right now, and as much as he wants to say 'screw you guys, I'm out of here', but the thought of leaving any of them to die has the makings of a panic attack stirring in his chest. He's always known that he cares for them – at the very least, for Scott and Lydia, maybe Alison – yet now, the idea of losing _any_ of these wolves breaks him.

The sense of belonging he gets in the Pack is something he's always yearned for. It's just surprising that in this moment, hiding in the Hale house with a shotgun balanced easily over his knees, it's the first time he's seeing that he _belongs_. They're a group of broken toys; a mix of the popular, the boring, the smart and the oblivious, of the beautiful and the plain. They're a _family_ now. He might not play a big part – Lydia is the brains, these days – yet they want him here. He'll do whatever he can to protect him.

His fingers tighten over the gun. "Derek?" He's aware of the Alpha, _his_ Alpha, shifting to look at him. Just as he's aware that Scott has started up the rickety staircase, probably heading to the burnt out room they use as a watching post.

The Alpha doesn't reply with words. Stiles can feel those eyes burning into him, questioning. Waiting.

"I know you can't do anything right now," He's fumbling over his words, trying to grab at the right ones, say this properly. "But when we win," he refuses to think that they won't, "I want you to give me the bite. I mean, I know this is kind of sudden, but I just –"

"No." Derek says, simply. Like that's the end of it, like he isn't expecting Stiles to argue.

"I – what?" Erica leaves the room, even though they all know she'll be able to hear no matter where she is in the house. "Excuse you? _No?_ This isn't really your choice dude. Well, it is, but like. Why not? Why not me?" His voice is rising steadily, passing from upset into hysterical "Do you like, think I'm not going to be a good wolf? You bit Isaac and Boyd and Erica but you won't bite me?"

"You could die, Stiles."

"So could have _any_ of them!" Stiles is up, hands clenched tight around the gun as he paces. "Any of them could have died, Derek –"

"And I didn't care about them then, if they lived or died. I bit Jackson _hoping_ he would die." It's the truth, harsh as it sounds.

Stiles' brain finally makes sense of the words. "You. What, you care if I die?"

Derek rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't be an idiot, Stiles. You're part of this Pack as a human. You don't need to be a wolf to be...important, here." He rises as well, ears straining. "Peter's almost here." He clasps a hand over Stiles' shoulder, glaring down into the boys eyes. "Stay inside the house and calm down."

"Dude." Stiles wheezes at Erica when she scampers back over to him, "Did Derek just tell me that he _liked me?_ That like...what happened before _wasn't_ just a canine thing?"

"Stiles I know I told you before that you make a good Batman." Her hands cup his cheeks, thumbs squishing into his face. "But you're a really shitty detective, and almost as oblivious as Scotty. We _all_ like you. Even Jackon. Derek just likes you a little more."

He flashes back to a hard cock rubbing against his ass, blinking a few times. "I can't deal with this shit right now." He declares, meeting Erica's eyes, his own faintly wild.

"You don't need to. He's not going to do anything about it, and no one's expecting anything from you. Just keep calm and be Batman, okay?"

His hands twitch over the gun. "Batman doesn't kill."

Erica kisses his squished cheek, nodding. "And you won't either. Keep it close, though." She releases him finally, "I'm going to go sit with Scott."

Numb, Stiles collapses once more to the couch wondering for the umpteenth time _how is this my life_.

I

They had managed to lose the SUV with John's guidance, the Sheriff quietly telling Melissa where to go from the backseat. Coach was sitting beside him, silent for once, eyes impossibly wide as they swerved bad enough that they actually _mounted the curb_ at some point. "Okay. There's more pressing matters at the moment, but somebody remind me to do an internal review of my staff. We've been on a high speed car chase for forty five minutes, and I've yet to hear _one_ siren." John sounds completely exasperated.

As they turn onto a worn forest trail, Melissa begins to talk.

She starts at the beginning, letting Peter fill in blanks she hadn't known existed. Peter gives no one the time to call them liars, turning around with a mouth full of fangs, eyes bright blue. His claws tap lightly on the dash. She can see Finstock freaking out, the pensive expression on John's face.

"Is Stiles..."

"No, he's human still. John, I know he should have told you a long time ago, but you can't deny he had your best interests in mind." She blinks away tears, unaware she'd even begun crying. "That night in the station." She chokes on the words. "I was in that cell and Derek...the Kanima. It was all so terrifying, and I could _see_ him, I could see Stiles trying so hard to crawl into the room, to _get to you_. God, John."

"When Scott got shot..." John trails off, and both Bobby as well as Peter wonder how the heck these two parents never ended up being _together_. "He's my _son_. He shouldn't have to protect me. Not from anything, let alone this supernatural bullshit. I should be the one protecting him."

"That's how I feel about Scott. But there's nothing I can do to keep him safe, other than do what he asks of me. It's going to be the same with Stiles, John. That boy is headstrong in the worst way – he's in the thick of this, he's not going to stop running with wolves because you tell him to. He's never done what he's told." It's not a jab at his parenting, just a statement. "Now...As parents, we always have that fear that something bad is going to happen to our kids. That someone might hurt them. It's not just a fear anymore John, and all we can do is sit back and let them handle it. This is...this goes way above us." She hitches a left at Peter's quiet command to do so.

"That's fine to say when your kids the one with super healing abilities or whatever. If Stiles get's shot, Melissa, he's doesn't get to keep going." If he knew how similar to Matt he sounded, he'd be disgusted. "Stiles is..."

"Too far into this to pull back out now, Sheriff. Even if he decided to leave us in the dust, anyone who really wants to know would be able to _easily_ find out that your son, a human boy, used to spend his nights running through the woods. Stiles is an...asset, to this Pack. He's one of us, now." _And so are you_ Peter's eyes say, as he tells Melissa to slow down, pull over.

"Now this is all fine and dandy but _why_ am I here?" Bobby tossed his hands to the hair, eyes frantically darting around at the other three adults. "I'm not –"

"You're involved with the Sheriff, romantically. It makes you a weak point, but it makes you Pack." Peter says, bland, as they pull up outside the Hale house. The first floor is mostly fixed now, and two sets of gold eyes peer at them from the upstairs window.

"What does being Pack _entail_?" John narrows his eyes as he climbs from the backseat, stinking of guilt that's directed at Bobby Finstock.

"It's like...Family, I think. It's the best I can explain it, anyway." Melissa cups John's cheek, gaze apologetic. "I'm really sorry about this John."

"It's not your fault." John breathes, closing his eyes. "Stiles was the one who dragged them into the woods that night."

"If you consider all the others who've been dragged into this, you might stop placing blame. They would have ended up involved somehow. Beacon Hills is a small place." Derek drops off the porch, eyes flashing red. "And in case you haven't noticed? Teenagers seem to be the prime target here. There's only one school." He disregards the fact that _he_ is the one hunting down wayward children to give them the bite. _Laura was a much better Alpha._

Peter doesn't bother mentioning how he had only sought out Scott because of the smells clinging at him, the scent of Melissa heavy on his clothes from when she'd folded them after they were dried. Yes, they would have been dragged into it regardless of that night in the woods.

He's jerked back to the present as the Sheriff rounds on his nephew, backing the 'boy' back into the porch. "If my son gets hurt because of you _one more time_, these Hunters will be the least of your worries. Werewolf or not, I will _destroy you_."

"If he gets hurt because of me again," Derek leaned forward, brow furrowed, mouth pulled into a grim line. Green met green as the men stared each other down, "I'll let you." He glances past the Sheriff's shoulder, at the Coach, nostrils flaring. A flash of horror appears in his eyes before he stomps it down and jerks his chin towards the front door. "He's inside."

"If you want to leave, you should do it now." John tells Bobby, giving Derek his back.

Bobby scrapes a hand over his face, head shaking. "If I leave now, what's the possibility of me _dying_?" He's met with silence, so he nods. "I thought so. I'm not going anywhere. Not right now." He knows that John's reading further into the words, can see the hurt in his eyes.

The three men head into the house.

"Stiles put that thing down before you hurt someone." Is the first thing out of John's mouth as he jabs a finger in his sons direction, indicating the gun.

"_Oh my God_, the two of you, Jesus." Stiles tosses his arms in the air, shoving the gun away. "Are you two happy now? Hmm?" It takes John a second to realizes Stiles is referring to _Derek_, who looks vaguely amused at the situation.

"What, you listen to your dad and not your Alpha?" His voice is low, mocking, as he tucks his hands into his pockets and moves to stand beside Peter. He can hear Melissa upstairs, talking to Scott in quite tones.

"See, the difference there is I _like my dad_. A lot. I only kind of like you. Sometimes. Like, when you're not tossing me into walls or making me hold you in pools or slamming my face into steering wheels which _ouch_, still not forgiven." He babbles. "Dad don't look at the gun like that, you can't kill Derek. Not that like, you aren't _allowed_, just you really can't. It won't work. Werewolf healing powers and all that."

"The bullets are laced, Stiles." Peter, the ever patient one, explains.

"Really? Oh _right_, these are Argent's guns. Why'd he leave them here anyway?"

"He didn't. She did."

Ah. She. "Well then." A pause. "Ew, are you telling me Erica went _down there_? Downstairs? To the chamber of secrets?"

"Stiles, we've been renovating, you know this."

"Yeah I do, you smacked my head off that wall over there, the kitchen divider." He points. "But like, _Erica_? Isn't it bad enough that you stick her in bondage gear twice a month without you shoving her down into the Torture Chamber? Really?" Stiles is so not affected by Derek's glares anymore. "Okay there Mister Inconsiderate Sourwolf."

"Stiles." The fact his _dad_ and _Derek_ were saying it at the same time had him nearly rolling off the couch in his fit of laughter. His dad grabbing him by the shirt, hauling him back onto the poor, broken piece of furniture was the only thing that saved his face from an unfortunate meeting with the floor.

"Sorry, sorry," He gasps out, clinging at his dads leg. "Sorry."

"It's alright son. Just...try to settle down?" John pats his head, awkward, as he shoots another look at Bobby.

Stiles seems to sober up then, making the entire room reek of guilt. Peter fights back a sigh. _Pups_, he thinks, shaking his head and taking a seat on the table, in front of the guns. "Stiles." He goes for soothing, gets a look in return that basically says _why hello there mister mccreeper wolf, fuck off, kthxbye_, so he drops it. Let the pup have his worries.

Peter can hear how fast Bobby's heart is beating, practically feel his eyes flickering. The Coach has no clue what to do, what he's going to do if they survive this. Which they will. Because as much as Derek isn't a good Alpha, he also _is_ a good Alpha, and Peter makes an excellent mentor. With the Sheriff and Melissa around, things should go smoothly.

Of course, it's during thoughts like these that everything suddenly decides it has to go wrong.

The howl that breaks the tentative silence is soul shattering. It makes the other wolves ache deep to their cores, even as Boyd bursts into the house, confusion painted across his face. The big wolf pauses, twists his torso to stare back into the darkness that's steadily rising in the forest.

The howl comes again. Tortured, cut off. The sound of a panicked wolf, a wolf in pain.

"Jackson." Stiles whispers and Peter is amazed to see the boy is able to discern between them. It's not a trait found easily by humans – even wolves often have a hard time pinpointing Pack by their cries alone. Still, he's an odd boy, so it shouldn't be a surprise. He views the world in a very special way.

John doesn't argue when Stiles picks his gun back up, shouldering it like he's always hauled the bloody thing around. It makes his blood run cold though, the grim determination on Stiles' face as he stares into Alpha-red eyes.

His sons face is bruised, the purpling running down his neck. He knows it disappears further, coating his back and torso in some sick, morbid rendition of art. The marks are harsh against his pale skin, made darker by the crimson of his hoodie. There's a little red reference floating somewhere, the Sheriff unwilling to fall into the irony.

It's the look in Stiles' eyes though, warmth gone from them, replaced by cool fire, that has John picking up a second gun, checking to make sure it's loaded. He knows that look.

It's the expression of someone preparing for war. Preparing for the fact that they could die.

The Alpha apparently knows that face as well, pleading silently for Stiles to stay behind.

"We're safer with you than we are if you guys all leave." Stiles argues, a one-sided conversation. "They've made it perfectly clear that they don't care who they hurt, but that they're gunnin' for us _mortals_. You said it yourself, they weren't trying to kill you." His voice warbles as his throat tightens. "He had a _gun_ Derek. If Boyd hadn't have gotten there, if I had been waiting on you, I wouldn't even be standing here right now." A deep breath, taken slowly through his nose. "They have Danny, right? Jacks wouldn't call us like that if they didn't. They might have him too." The memory of Erica, of Boyd, screaming behind duct tape as their bodies writhed, electricity coursing through their veins. "Every. Second. Counts."

"You're too stubborn." Is the only thing Derek can say as Melissa, Scott and Erica join them in the living room. He peers at his Pack, this complete cluster fuck of humans, wolves, zombies – he looks at Peter as he thinks it. He's going to argue, going to tell Stiles to stay, order Scott to the same, when Jackson _screams_. The noise is a mix between the cry of a wolf, and the pure pain of a boy.

He doesn't get the chance to argue – Stiles slides past him, Scott hot on his heels, and the terrible duo is flying out the door. He groans, frustrated beyond belief, before turning to follow. "Peter s-"

"Oh no, I don't think so." Melissa jams her hand into Derek's shoulder blades. "Lead the way wolf boy, but no chance in Hell am I staying here."

John snorts, making an innocent expression when the McCall woman turns her fury onto him. He waves his gun, trotting towards her. "I know, I know."

Derek leaves it up to Peter to lead the humans way, gesturing for Erica and Boyd to follow him as he lets the wolf take over, roar filling the sky as he drops to all fours, heading off to the rest of his Pack.

Jackson is a bloodied mess when he arrives. He stinks of wolfsbane, low potency, and of _ache_. It makes Derek's wolf whimper in shame, disgusted that he hadn't been there to help. Scott is equally wolfed out, squatting nearby and whining for all he's worth. It's a keening noise in his chest, trying to soothe his upset brother.

Jackson's claws sink into mud, try to drag him forward. He's practically foaming at the mouth, wild with fear. Blue eyes bulge as his body convulses like someone just struck him with a cattle prod. Derek crawls closer, nostrils flaring, before recoiling. _Mountain ash._

There's a thick line of it, shifting around trees and underbrush, making a distinct, mocking barrier between them, and – yes, fuck, that's Danny's blood, the air rich with it, thick with it, nearly _suffocating. Danny._

"Stiles." Derek hisses, voice caught in the middle of human and _not_.

"You can't stop me."

He turns his head, eyes shutting for a brief moment. Stiles is already on the other side of the barrier, gun clenched tight in white knuckled hands. The boy smiles, tight. "I can't leave Danny like that Derek, and I'm the only one..." He trails off. "Call Alison, if you can. She can...she'll be able to help."

Just like that, like it's the easiest thing in the world, Stiles turns and gives his back to the Pack. Boyd is the one who screams with it, a howl that echoes off the canopy, making a single wolf sound like twenty.

Stiles feels a touch on his shoulder, blinks to himself. He's slow to turn, heart hammering. Could Pack do that? Could Pack mean that even something as strong as mountain ash wouldn't even be able to stop you? His blood runs cold as he stares into the soft green eyes of his father. "Dad..."

"I know, son." The Sheriff nods, head bowing. "I'm not going to let you do this alone. Not this time."

Knowing they're being watched by the rest of the Pack – the Beta's, save for Peter, whining at him – Stiles takes one step forward. Then another.

With his father, he slips into the fog rolling up from the water, ears perked to catch any sign of movement, anything that will tell him that Danny is alive.

ZZZ

Scott's running on pure wolf, the human part of his brain unwilling to acknowledge Stiles rushing into danger for them, again. _I'm not a hero, Scott. I'm not you. My dad, he – that night. I can't. I'm not you. No matter what I do, man, I mean Lydia._ The wolf inside his head growls loud enough to make his stuttering, human thoughts come to an abrupt hault. He's grateful for it, even if it makes him a coward.

He brackets Jackson's chest with his arms, dragging the other wolf underneath him. They're both gone, lost to instinct, enough so that neither of them are ashamed when Scott's tongue laves the side of a bloodied neck, when it soothes Jackson to whimpering stillness beneath him.

He can feel hands on his shoulders, nose telling him it's his mother. She strokes him carefully, a little bit afraid. He growls at her in what he thinks is a soothing fashion, feels her flinch away. It doesn't last long. She's wrapping her arms around his chest, like he's done to Jackson. He might be more dominant, but she's his mom. He bares his neck for her, simpers when her cheek presses to the flesh there. She's talking to him quietly, asking him to _let me see Scott, please, I'll try to help_. The words don't make sense to his wolf, but the smell is soothing. He relaxes over Jackson; pressing more firmly to the prone jock, returning to his soft cleaning of the other mans neck. His mom eventually quiets, backing off.

Erica takes the moment to try and weasel between Scott and Jackson, whining, snuffling. Coach has been on his knees beside them since he's caught sight of Jacks, words sharp as they tell him, "Get a grip Whittemore, come on, you're better than this." It's an endless stream of _harsh_, but it somehow breaks through to Jackson, and his desperate little growls cease as wolfblue eyes lock with Coach's.

"They're so distraught." Melissa whispers, standing shakily next to Peter. "How come you're okay?" She glances at the Alpha, whose controlling his pain only slightly better than the rest of the Pack.

"I'm older, more experienced." He's already lost everything once, knows how to steel himself for it. It's not a comforting thought. He wishes he could lose himself to the emotion of _sadness_, but it's long been burnt out of him. "Derek, you need to call Isaac." He reminds. He's not stupid enough to try to take the Alpha's phone, and he's never bothered to take Isaac's number – the pup spends all his time with them at the Hale house, anyway.

Only really, Derek's too lost to even reach for his cell. Instead the Alpha tips his head back, the growl that barrels out being echoed by all the Beta pups wiggling on the ground. It's the sound of a wolf in need, of an Alpha relaying his location so his Pack can come and find him.

"You shouldn't be here." Peter says quietly, nails turning to claws as his nose turns to the wind, scenting. Melissa says nothing beside him, knowing it's true.

She shivers, taking a small step closer when Isaac's rumble answers Derek's. It's guttural, raw. It's telling them _I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold on. I'm on my way._ She can't hear it, not with her human ears, but she can see the way Derek's bloodlust is rising as he cocks his head like a dog, listening.

In a darkened bedroom safe in Beacon Hills, two teenaged girls jump, startled, when the lone male in the room tosses his head back and _bellows_. Alison's breath comes faster when gold eyes turn to them, fangs glinting in the light that filters in from half closed blinds. "Isaac..." She begins, worried. "What's happening?" She knows the wolf is hearing something she isn't.

He doesn't reply, dropping instead to a crouch.

"They're in trouble." Lydia decides, tossing her purse over her shoulder. She's already wearing sneakers, having learned a while ago that running with wolves was near impossible in designer heels. "Your dad's cars still here right? Go get the keys."

"You should have been an Argent." Alison sighs, thinking Lydia would have made a perfect leader. Something that Alison herself most definitely isn't. _You'll learn_, her father had told her.

"Well I'm not. I'm a Martin. Get the keys, turn the car on. Open the back door for Isaac." Lydia shoos her away, crouching near the wolf as Alison darts from the room. She's chosen Chris Argent's car because knowing him, there's a trunk full of deadly weapons. One can never be too careful. "Isaac, look at me." Her voice is sharp enough that the skittish wolf jerks his head towards her. "You can't run to them. You need to take Alison and I. That's what Derek wants, right?" She has no idea if that's what the Alpha wants, and judging by the confusion in pretty gold eyes, Isaac doesn't either. "He'll want us all to be there. You need to come with us, in the car. It's not fast enough, I know, but you need to do this for us, okay?"

He's supposed to protect them, and he can't do that if he can't _see_ them. He nods, and follows Lydia downstairs.

They take his stunted, growling directions with only a bit of difficulty. The wolf in him is going wild, needing to be at his Alpha's side, where he's been called. Every once in a while he howls in the confines of the car, deafening. They can't hear Derek calling back, but he must be – almost as soon as Isaac cries, the boy is growling at them to turn this way, turn that way.

It's no surprise when Lydia rushes to Jackson's side, nearly bowling Scott over in the process. Scott, whose so lost to his own instincts, can't even muster up the words to beg Alison _no_, as the girl pulls a crossbow and a gun from her father's trunk, tearing across the line of mountain ash without a backwards glance.

I

Danny looks worse than Stiles ever has. His face is a mass of bruises, and Stiles is sure the other boy's nose is broken. He's having trouble seeing through swollen eyes, on his knees between two trees.

There's a man walking around him, gun held loosely in his fingers, dangling at his side. "Do you know how hard it is to resist the bite? You play on the same team as those wolves – you've seen what it does. Better than any drug, right?" The Hunter jerks Danny's head back by the hair, slapping his cheek with the gun to get him to pay attention. "Humans, when exposed to that filth, when they aren't strong enough to _hate_ it, they end up _wanting_ it. They writhe around on their backs and beg Alpha's for the bite, and then the scum grows in numbers, and innocent people are _killed_, Danny. Do you think that's right? That innocent people are killed, because idiots like _you_ don't understand danger? Because idiots like _you _think that it's safe in the clutches of a wolf?"

Blood spills down Danny's chin as he opens his mouth to reply. "M'not an idiot." He wheezes.

"You're an idiot. Did you think that wolf would be able to save you?" The Hunter stops himself there, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. "No. All it takes is a well aimed bullet, the right kind of poison, and the wolves drop like stones."

"Why us?"

Stiles knows Danny is asking about the humans of the Pack.

The gun taps his cheek. "That's the right question, Danny. Good boy." The quiet jock is slammed across the face hard enough that he hits the forest floor. He stays where he is, not bothering to move back to his knees. Stiles can see it, then, that there can't be any shame in being weak. Someone's always going to be stronger, it's okay to give in. _It's okay. _"You're a time bomb, Danny. The other humans that run with you? They're time bombs too. What do you think happens if maybe that twitchy kid _does_ take a stray bullet? Think your Alpha lets him die? No. He doesn't. He gives him the bite and hopes he lives. If the Sheriff, or that pretty nurse McCall suddenly gets hurt?" The Hunter laughs a low, cruel sound as he turns in a circle, arms outstretched.

Stiles is distinctly aware of the fact they're not alone. There must be other Hunter's, hiding in the coverage of the trees. He lowers himself further, feeling his dad do the same.

"It's easier to abort a litter of pups than it is to go after the pups when they've grown their fangs." A boot slams onto Danny's face, the man dropping into a lazy crouch above him. "Take out the threat before it's even a threat, right? That's why we start with you." The gun is being pressed to Danny's forehead, then, Stiles' heart beating so loud he's sure someone is going to hear it. "You're Pack, Danny. The wolves want you safe. If we take out the weakest links." The safety is flicked off, a gloved finger curving over a trigger "It leaves the whole Pack broken, wild. They lose control of their instincts. They turn into mindless killing machines, whose sole purpose is to get revenge. Do you know what else that makes them? It makes them sloppy, Danny. It makes them easier to kill, easier to hunt down. They get reckless. We hit them where it really hurts and they just _fold_. It's beautiful. It works."

Stiles lifts himself, preparing to shoot.

He doesn't have to though, and he turns wide eyes to his father as the bang bounces off of trees, the Hunter stumbling back. The second shot catches him between the eyes – the straight, black length that indicates Alison's arrow pointing out at them mockingly as he drops like a tonne of bricks, half on top of Danny but completely dead. John looks surprised at the arrow, but unbothered by the gaping hole his shotgun has left in another human beings chest.

Stiles never wanted his dad to have to kill for him. Never. _Not this_.

The woods explode into a flurry of motion, Hunters bursting through underbrush, shots ringing through the air without any real target. Danny – _broken, hurt, tired Danny, not a threat to anyone, not now anyway – _is forgotten on the ground as Alison screams for them to _run_.

Stiles doesn't need to be told twice. This time, it's him hauling his dad up, leading the way. The humans – mostly him and Alison, he knows – know these woods like the back of their hands. He'd played here as a child, with Scott. Now as a teenager, he spends his time rushes through the woods, rubbing himself on every tree, every rock, leaving a trail for the wolves to follow. It's a dangerous game of tag, a game that teaches them how to hut, to track. It had been Peter's idea of course, but Stiles can't deny the thrill he gets when Scott or most recently, Isaac, suddenly lunges at him from the shadows, all claws and gold eyes. He's never hurt in these games, but he is swung around, and around. There's laughter and bro-hugs, and wrestling.

He's so fucking glad Peter makes them play these games, because _yeah_ that tree is familiar but _fuck_ they're going in the wrong direction _away from the Pack_. It doesn't matter though, because they're crossing the line of mountain ash, Alison hot on their heels. She shouts for them to keep going, and Stiles listens closely, hears more than one set of footsteps behind them. He knows now that they're past the barrier, the wolves will be listening.

He just wonders if they'll make it there in time – the barrier is a big circle. They're fast, though. They're fast enough. They _have_ to be. "Dad." He gasps, nearly losing his grip on the man when John stumbles. The Sheriff gets his feet back under him quick enough, and then they're running full tilt again, dodging trees and bullets.

He wishes he knew who had made the barrier. The only one who can break it is the one who made it. It's going to really suck if the Hunters leave, or get killed, and there's this giant section of woods off limits. Or maybe if they die it goes away? Does mountain ash have an expiration date? He's going to have to ask someone about that. You know, when he's not running for his life.

Alison _shrieks_ and Stiles doesn't think. He slams into his dad, hard, and the man stumbles. There's confusion on John Stilinski's face as he finds himself ass over tea kettle, rolling down a hill he hadn't even realized was right there.

Alison doesn't get the chance to hit the ground, Stiles lunging and catching her before it happens. She's never been shot before, but she suddenly hates herself for sticking Erica and Boyd with so many arrows because it hurts. It hurts more than anything she's ever felt, and this bullet has only caught her in the thigh. "Stiles you have to go."

"I can't." His voice is pleading as his own legs give out. He can't carry Alison, not far. They both know it. He pulls her to his chest, hunching his shoulders to shield her from the Hunters vision. And then, he catches sight of a small shimmer of hope.

Someone's stepped on the line of ash, their boot print splitting a crack in the barrier. Unless the circle is _touching_, is _closed_, is _perfect_...The person who made the circle broke it, reckless in their chase. _Just like the wolves_.

Stiles laughs and tilts his head back, grinning into the face of a startled man, smiling still when a fist crashes into his jaw hard enough the bone creaks. He tastes blood, spits it to the side, turns his chin skyward again.

The Pack is eerily silent as it descends from the fog, not a snarl or growl available for human ears. Derek is particularly awe inspiring when he appears. Sudden, like a ghost, claws slicing through human flesh. It's past the point of treaties, of scaring these people away. His claws cut up under the ribs, go through organs. The man doesn't make a peep when he dies, tossed carelessly to the side.

The Alpha squats, hunkering down until he's eye level with Stiles, ignoring Alison's frantic heart and shuddering breaths as she shakes. Red meets brown and for a second, everything is _still_. A claw lands on his cheek, scrapes down the hurt there. "I'm okay." Stiles breathes, content with the fact that this time it's _true_.

Peter is the only thing here that actually terrifies Stiles – the old Alpha flies into the clearing in _full_ wolf form. He's always thought that the four legged, hulking shape Peter had had before was a result of his fucked up shifting. He had thought the noses, the glowy eyes, the _ears_, were a regular werewolf's full form.

He'd been right on the Peter front, wrong on the 'normal werewolf' one. _This_ was a normal, balanced werewolf, fully shifted. He has four legs, and he looks like a wolf, although his shoulders are higher than the rest of him. He's beautiful. Way bigger than a regular wolf, and more dangerous too, with his wit.

Peter is the killer amongst them, and he merrily sets to slaying, saving the pups from having to do it themselves.

The gurgled noise his dad makes when he finally drags himself up over the top of the hill is _totally_ worth the way he almost pissed himself when Peter appeared.

Then he remembers that he has no idea if Danny's okay and they still haven't found Chris Argent. He isn't okay anymore.

I

Its midmorning and they're all sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, listening to the Mahealani's frantically asking Melissa if they can see their son. Alison is in a room nearby, Peter softly assuring Scott that her heartbeat is normal, she's going to be okay.

Coach had been the smart one, waiting for one of the wolves to come and move Danny, although he and Melissa had done a preliminary once over when they'd stumbled upon him. Peter had been loathe to leave them there, but he'd known the pups needed him so he'd gone. In the end, Boyd was the one to lift the prone jock and carry him to Chris' car, laying him down in the back beside Alison.

Jackson and Danny had been attacked when they were leaving for the Hale house. Jackson had told Stiles and Scott on the ride to the hospital, that he'd felt something was off. His skin had been itching with a sense of unease, and he'd wanted to go to his Alpha. They'd made it three blocks before the SUV had t-boned his car. _On my side_, he told them, relief evident on his face. He'd been reeling from the crash when a man had reached into his rolled down window, sprayed him in the face with what he'd thought was mace but had ended up being wolfsbane. It'd taken him nearly half an hour to see straight, before he could crawl from his broken car and try to scent out Danny, screaming for his Pack.

Stiles drops his head against Scott's shoulder, ignoring the looks they get from everyone except their parents. "You okay?" Scott asks, a low rumble as he presses his cheek to his best friends hair, arm winding around the other boys shoulder.

"I'm not about to have a panic attack if that's what you're asking." Stiles settles into the cuddle, feeling his insides finally begin winding down. He's been running on pure adrenaline since he was kidnapped three days ago and shit, yeah, it's really been that freaking long. He and Scott have been cuddling since they were babies, and he'll be damned if Alpha-glares and Erica-smirks keep him from being comforted/giving comfort. Plus, worrying over him keeps Scott from trying to sneak into Alison's room, where the girl is passed out.

Then, the universe yet again decides it's going to completely wreck the tentative calm they've fallen into and Chris Argent storms through the hospital doors, covered in blood. Like _covered_. From the gash across his forehead, it's obvious quite a bit of it might be his. The mans hand is wet with red, making a slick _squelching_ noise when he grabs at the Sheriff's wrist. "Where is she?" He all but snarls, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

Melissa moves away from the Mahealani's then, ducking under Chris' arm and taking the brunt of his weight. She's barking out orders faster than the Pack can follow, but soon there's a stretcher and doctors forcing Mr Argent onto it. "We'll let you stay in Alison's room, but you need to be looked at." Melissa tells him firmly. He stares into her eyes for a long moment before he nods and finally releases the Sheriff's wrist – how he's managed to hold onto it with the doctors shoving him around, no one will ever know.

"Stay here," John sighs out, shaking his head. "I'm going to go get his statement before they start working on him."

Stiles doesn't have to so much as glance at Scott, before his friend is focusing his ears and quietly murmuring the conversation to him.

_I know what's been going on Argent – I'm going to have to take your statement for the police records, same as I will for the kids. _

_What happened to –_

_They're a non-issue_ and wow, Mr Stilinski has never sounded that cold, ever, and that is fucking terrifying, okay?

_Good. Alison's going to be okay?_

_She took a shot in the leg. It was clean; they're saying there shouldn't be any permanent damage. She'll be fine, Chris._

_You're going to need a full story. Why all this happened. Did they take care of the mess?_

_Peter Hale and Isaac Lahey are doing it_ and huh, so that's where they were. Stiles shoots a glare at Derek, who is pointedly trying to look 'innocent' which really just makes him look like the homicidal maniac people think he is.

_Chris, what happened to you?_

_I had an impromptu. We don't usually go into each other's territories. We each have our own codes, but we try to stay out of one another's way. When I told them that I couldn't let them hurt any of the Beacon Hills wolves..._

_Thank you. My son was out there, and –_

_You don't need to explain that to me. I get it, John. When people ask, you're going to tell them that this had to do with my fire arms. I sell guns to the police force – it's why they targeted my family. It's why they went after your son and his friends, thinking they had information. You're going to write up the report and tell everyone that this was because of me._

_Chris you don't have to –_

_We're strong enough to handle one more rumor, John. _

_They're going to ask where everyone went._

_I left a body. You see my wounds. The doctors will tell you it was done is self defense. We'll say that I killed the man who kidnapped me in an effort to survive, and the others left because you were closing in. You didn't call for back up because there wasn't time – you'd gotten a tip. There was nothing you could do. You found Danny in the woods when you were following the lead, and brought him to the hospital. You've called your deputies now?_

_I called them on the way over here. They're sweeping the woods on the other side of town, and we have a road block up._

_Good, good. _

_What do you want me to say about Alison?_

_She's a smart girl. She managed to escape, and she couldn't get hold of me. She managed to get home, where she called Scott. He came and drove her to the hospital with my car. They panicked, and were too afraid to call 911._

_You do this before, Chris?_

_I've done more than you'll like to know, John. You alright with lying?_

_No. But I'll be okay. You're both going to be fine Chris. Thank you._

Scott hushes as John slips out of the room, giving Melissa a tight lipped smile. The parents watch each other, looking as tired as their kids feel. "There's not much more we can do here." John says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The Mahealani's have long since disappeared into their sons room, and the Pack knows they won't be allowed near Dan or Alison for a few more days, at _least_. "Jackson can sneak back in tonight and tell Danny what to say, in case a deputy tries to take his statement when he wakes up." As opposed to John. "Argent will let Alison know what to do, so we're fine there."

"Time to go home, then." Stiles bounces from his seat with more energy than he'd thought himself capable of, scrambling not to fall over. It's Scott who catches him this time, hand gentle around his bicep as he pulls the Stilinski boy to stand.

"You cool, bro?" Scott's puppy-eye expression is just pathetic, so Stiles pulls him into a one armed hug, thumping him on the back.

"No panic attacks, promise. It's all good. Go home Scott." Stiles shoves his best friends face, grinning when he's pulled into a headlock, a playful growl meeting his ears. "Yeah, yeah, you're a big bad wolf." He slaps a hand onto McCall's ass, totally throwing the other boy off.

Everything just feels so _good_ right now, even though it's all so _wrong_.

He catches the look on Coach's face, though, and wiggles away from Scott. "Hey dad, I like, really hate to do this because I want nothing more than to go home and go to bed, but I really want to talk to Derek about some stuff, and now that I'm not lying about where I'm going, can I please just go to the Hale house for the night?" He says in almost one breath, dropping his head to his dads chest. He hums at the hand that strokes the back of his head.

John meets Bobby's eyes over his sons head, nodding slowly as he pets. "Sure, son. Just be safe." It's safe now. The threat is gone. It's _safe_. And sometimes even when you're a parent, you need some time for _you_ and he's had a long day. A really, really long day.

"Thanks. I love you." Stiles is never one to shy away from emotion and he doesn't bother lowering his voice. Let the wolves hear.

"I love you too son." In a fairly rare display of affection, his dad kisses the top of his head, gently releasing him. "Be safe."

"Me? Not safe? What gave you that idea?" Stiles offers a 'props' to Derek, who merely raises an eyebrow, so he shrugs and bounds out the front doors. The Alpha makes an irritated noise, before following after him.

Scott slings an arm around his mother's waist, kissing her cheek "I'm coming home with you. I want to sleep. Erica, Boyd?" He asks, noting that Lydia and Jackson are already gone.

"Nope. We are going to our respective houses to get much needed love from our own parents." Erica cuffs him lightly on the chin, eyes smiling even if her mouth isn't. "You did good today, Scott. I'm glad you joined our Pack."

Boyd is at her shoulder, big and quietalthough he _actually_ smiles. "Thank you for today Mrs McCall. You too, Sheriff, Coach." His hands fall to Erica's shoulders, steering her away from the adults. They get outside in time to see the Camaro pull up, Isaac driving. He reeks of Peter and the dirt in the cemetery. They share a look and wave at him, watching Derek climb into the passenger's side as Stiles scrambles into the backseat.

"This is too good to last." She muses, lips quirked into a wry smirk as she starts down the stairs, Boyd's hand clasped loosely in hers.

"Just enjoy it while we can. I'm sure this time tomorrow Derek'll be sweeping the floor with us." He presses a kiss to her temple as he starts to walk her home.

"Enjoy it while we can, huh?"

"It's the little moments." He replies with a shrug, moving so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders, pull her to his side. She relaxes into it, hiding her grin in his shirt.

I

"I didn't actually need to talk to you about anything. I mean, we did our taking earlier. You don't want me to die, I really don't want me to die, you know." Stiles is blabbering as the three of the walk into the house – him, Derek and Isaac. It's so weird. It's less weird when Scott's there.

"I know. Walking lie detector, remember?" Derek rolls his eyes and flings the front door open, shoving past Stiles to get inside.

"Where's Peter?"

"I don't know, Stiles. I've been with you at the hospital. Isaac?"

"He helped me and then he left." The saucy wolf shrugs, nudging Stiles further into the house.

"I just, yanno. My dad, Coach. It's weird, right? But I can't judge, I mean...well, no never mind. But I can't judge." There's the heady smell of arousal, sharp and sudden, and the quickening of Stiles' pulse – probably lost in his own little fantasies, one's he'd never tell another soul. It amuses Derek. "So...I mean, this is a lot to take in, right? I was here from the beginning, when it was just Scott, and then everything just happened one after the other so it was okay. He's just...it's a lot to take in. Do you think he's okay? Should I go home?"

"I'm pretty sure Finstock was going with your dad." Derek raises both eyebrows, standing at the base of the stairs. "You really want to go home Stiles? Hm?"

"...no. No, I do not." He grimaces. "When I went home yesterday morning I was lucky enough that either of them were wearing pants _oh my God, _ugh." The teen throws his hands over his ears, shaking his head violently. "Do not want. Do not want."

"Wait your dad and-"

"Yes, no. Shut up. I don't know, just." His shoulders slump as he puppy-eyes at Isaac "I want them to be happy. You know I don't have any problem with gay guys, I mean, I freaking love Danny. It's more like, he's my dad. I don't want him getting with _anyone_."

"You need to stop thinking about it." Isaac offers, amused with how Stiles isn't even aware he's being herded. The boy takes a step back for every forward one the wolf takes. Stiles doesn't catch on until his back bumps Derek's chest – Derek, whose standing on the first step of the stairs, silently watching him with eyes that don't give anything away.

The human tenses, but he's not afraid. A little bit anxious, sure. "How are you, ah. I mean..." He trails off brain short circuiting when Isaac's blue eyes glitter gold at him. "Oooh shit..."

"It's okay Stiles." Isaac soothes, tongue lapping the cut on the humans cheek. "We're going to take care of you this time." He rests their foreheads together, bumping their noses. "Just relax."

It's hard to relax, though, trapped between two wolves. He feels like a lamb preparing for slaughter, the feeling only amplified when Isaac ducks down to drag teeth across his neck. It feels good though, enough that he _does_ end up relaxing, melting back into Derek's chest. The Alpha's hands curve over his hips, dipping beneath his red sweater, stroking at his skin.

"Let's go upstairs." Derek's voice is softer than it's ever been and Stiles blindly follows, saved from tripping by two pairs of hands that somehow manage to stick to him even as they walk.

He's deposited on the mattress in Derek's room, left staring up at the afternoon sky as his mind reels. They need to start fixing the upstairs because this, this is ridiculous.

It's less ridiculous when his shirts pulled up and Isaac tongues at his navel, nibbling across his abdomen. "I've wanted to do this for so long." The saucy wolf sighs, happy, as Derek stretches out beside them to watch. It's a little weird, yeah, but also hot, so Stiles arches his hips, lets his erection brush against Isaac's chest.

They end up with Isaac laying over top of him, lapping into his mouth. "It's _always fucking open_ Stiles, do you know what that does to me?" He asks between kisses, tongue trailing across Stiles' upper lips. The other boy answers with a moan, hips rolling continuously now. "You're just sitting there on the bench and your mouth is open." He adds, sucking the lower lip into his mouth, chewing it until it's swollen.

Stiles groans deep in his chest, and Isaac doesn't bother telling him how fucking _sexy_ it is, that he gets so quiet during sex. Who'd have thought? Instead, he latches his mouth to the boy's neck and pulls a bruise to the skin, clawed hands hitching hips closer so they can grind _better_.

He's too eager and this is too new, for him to even try and fuck Stiles. Instead, he settles for this desperate rutting motion, pressing his cheek flat to Stiles' chest so he can hear his heart race without even trying. A moan distracts him, makes him tilt his head enough to see what's going on.

Derek is stripping.

His hips stutter to a halt, only spurred into motion when Stiles grabs his ass, hauls him closer and _woah_. Who knew Stilinski had some muscle? Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen the guy shirtless – weird, they're on the same Lacrosse team – and it's something he has to fix...once they're done.

He angles his head enough that he can watch Derek finger Stiles' mouth as the teen's rut, desperate. There's wet noises, and soft moans, and Isaac is horrified when he comes first, ruining his jeans. The sound he makes is desperate, _broken_, but the one Stiles makes as he hooks a leg over Isaac's hips is downright _obscene_.

"Derek." He gasps around the fingers, two of them now, words garbled. His eyes roll and he writhes, entire body twisting with the force of his orgasm. "Ohmygod."

Derek's own cock his leaking on his belly, standing stiff against his abs as he watches Stile's mouth. His eyes are still green, but there's a red tinge around them that makes Isaac's dick give a tired, interested twitch.

"Can I...?" Derek doesn't _do_ vocal, leaving most of what he says up to interpretation and body language. He's sliding onto his side though, the head of dick brushing Stiles' chin, leaving a wet trail behind. Isaac pulls himself up to lap it off, reveling in the noise Stiles makes.

"If you don't now you'll never get the chance again, I swear to God."

It's all the invitation the Alpha needs, holding himself at the base as he slides into Stiles' open mouth. He tilts his head back, baring his throat, which is enough to make Isaac whimper. He settles for nibbling on Stiles' chin, then his throat, when he notices the Adam's apple bobbing every time he _swallows_.

Stiles is inexperienced, but he's eager, and it doesn't take long before Derek is spilling, filling Stiles' mouth faster than the boy can suck down. A bit of cum dribbles out of his mouth as Derek pulls away, eyes fully red. He's bending down, wants to lap himself from Stiles' mouth when Isaac whispers something.

It sounds awed, and he's not paying much attention, but he vaguely hears something about _look mom, no hands_ and a murmur that sounds suspiciously like it has to do with _spiderman_.

Whatever it is, it makes Stiles laugh so hard that _cum shoots out his nose_. Derek's cum. The Alpha is equal parts shocked and disgusted as he rears back, swiping furiously at his face where _nose-semen_ has hit him. "What the fuck?" He cries, his first real display of emotion in years, mouth open in horror.

It only prompts the pup and human to laugh harder, tears rolling down Stiles' face as they cling at one another, positively _cackling_.

"I was going to kiss you!" He growls, angry.

Stiles manages to gasp out, "Oh Derek, you're such a _romantic_" through his laughing fit, but it only makes the Alpha growl.

I

"You didn't have to come back here Bobby." John mumbles around his cup of coffee, shifting nervously. "I mean, I'm not going to be angry, or blame you if you decide to walk out that door right now. This is...it's a lot to handle. It was a lot to handle when it was just me and Stiles."

"I did have to come here." Bobby slams his hands onto the counter, cornering John. "If I turn and walk away right now, that's not going to change anything, you know? Werewolves and whatever else are still going to exist. Everything will be the same, except I'll be alone again, and you'll be alone again."

John's lips quirk to the side, and he lets himself be crowded. "You're right. Nothing's going to get better if you walk away." He sets his mug aside, relaxing further into the counter. "But you really don't have to stay. It's dangerous." He adds, needing Bobby to realize the severity of this before he gets in any deeper.

"I'm the Coach to a team of werewolves, apparently. I don't think dating the Sheriff of Beacon Hills is really going to alter much in this world." Bobby shakes his head, stunned that he's finally put a name to this _thing_ they have. "Plus," he babbles "I'm not the only one getting a new load to carry. My cat, you know him. Garfield. He's a mean cat. Always hisses, and scratches, never shuts up."

"Neither does Stiles." John accepts the kiss, slips his tongue along Bobby's, feels relief make both their bodies soften.

"He'll probably start calling you meow. It means dad." Bobby adds, completely serious. "And he comes home late at night; if you lock him out he sits there and screams."

"I'm used to being woken up at late at night." John is moving them, backing Bobby towards the stairs.

They fall into the bed together, naked, clothes strewn throughout the house. It's the first time they actually have sex, and it's sweet – slow and easy, uncertain. It makes them feel young again as they rock together in sweaty sheets and whispered words, room glowing with midday shine. They fall asleep before its dark.

Bobby wakes in the morning to the morning light, quietly awed with how much life can change in just a few days.

The Stilinski house becomes a place of many firsts, for many people.

_Eventually, it will become a home._

_Stiles will rush home from a movie with Isaac, scoop Garfield off the floor, hug the old cat as he ducks his head into the dining room to check up on his parents. Coach will be sitting at the table, grading papers, as his father sips a mug of coffee and writes out his most recent report. He'll be told dinner is on the table, and he'll grin when Coach tells him that John ate all his peas, he made double sure of that._

_The house will never be quiet, an endless stream of people and noise, and for the first time since his mother died, both Stilinski men will be happy, and it's really all that matters._

_Even if both Coach and his dad decide they need to give Derek the talk. _

_Aaaawkwaaard._


End file.
